Snap

Her grey silk coat floated behind her as she strode across the road, long legs black-trouser-clad, and a sense of purpose at her heels. The wind caught at her short hair, curling it across her face for a moment, and she flicked her head in a tiny, precise movement.

Derville watched her from the shelter of a doorway on the other side of the road, with his trademark newspaper and dark glasses, dressed to blend into the workday crowd. He didn’t need to check against the photograph he was holding behind the paper; she was as distinctive as he was indistinguishable. He slid out of his doorway and trailed her at a distance, finding her easy to follow.

With an anxious eye on the low grey crowds, because umbrellas would make it harder to keep her in sight, he walked the length of the high street, pausing to watch her reflection in the window of a travel agency, as she answered a call on her mobile phone. Her head dipped, and she gesticulated as she spoke. He was near enough to observe polished fingernails, and the absence of a wedding ring, and he thought he could pick out the pitch of her voice, but not her words. The call seemed urgent, not gossipy, and she appeared to cut it short.

She walked more quickly than before, and he almost lost her when he walked straight into a woman carrying two heavy shopping bags, who muttered curses as she regained her balance. Derville cast an apology into his wake, and relocated his quarry just as she stopped, quite suddenly, and stepped into a wine bar.

A few discreet moments later, he took a seat at the bar, with a good view towards the window, where she had seated herself without removing her coat, and without a drink. She was watching the door, and tapping those polished fingernails, staccato on the table. He asked for a beer, because he simply couldn’t sit there without cover, and fiddled with the camera on his mobile telephone, making sure there was enough light.

New model?

He frowned. The barman, with his friendly enquiry, was blocking his view. He grunted rudely, and was left alone again. The woman was now leaning back, her lips pressed thinly together, downturned at the edges. She lifted her sleeve to glance at her watch, and then returned her gaze to the door.

In response, it swung inwards, and two girls burst through it. Both unrealistic shades of blonde, both sporting dresses that were shorter than high school hockey skirts. They made a great deal of scraping clatter, as they pulled themselves cheaply on to bar stools, and demanded blue and amber drinks that glinted like stained-glass in the dusty daylight.

He tore his gaze away from the laddered thigh of the girl nearest to him, and realised that a man had joined the woman in the window. A broad smile transformed and animated her features, and as he watched, the man caught hold of her hands, to keep them still. She calmed herself, blinked, looked into his eyes.

Cautiously, Derville framed a picture, and made sure the camera would not flash. It came out well, and he kept one eye on the couple, while he tapped the buttons on his phone, and squirted it through the ether to his client.

The man was at the bar by now, asking for a bottle of wine and two glasses. As Derville observed him, gathering details about the cut of his suit and the size of the notes in his wallet, his mobile phone buzzed, tugging at the man’s attention. He paid for the drinks, and stood at the bar, typing a text message, and sending it before he returned to the window.

Likewise, Derville checked the message he had just received. It said That’s me.